Communication Breakdown
by fionasank
Summary: A demon lures the SuperWhoLock gang into an abandoned building, where it proceeds to possess one of them at a time, and no one has any idea who.
1. Prologue

_****____**A/N: Okay so the prologue's a bit weird but it's not like this the whole time I promise. Please review, I've been writing this for so long and I will kill for feedback. ForeverThankingNicki for being my beta (ForeverShippingJohnlock (see what I did there))!**_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_Let's set the scene, shall we?_

_A busy London street. Usual kind of day; occasional cloud in the sky, frequent winds, a little edge to the curt breeze. People walk around, holding shopping bags and phones and each other. I survey my targets: a jogger passes me by. Oh, yeah. Perfect cover. I shove myself into her mouth. Slim, strong build. She flexes (I flex) her arms. Perfect._

_I've already observed that they're heading my way, so she ducks (I duck) into a storefront and drink from her water bottle. A child walks by. I blink. He cries. Excellent._

_A few minutes later, she hears (I hear) him talking like a madman. His voice floats to her ears above the crowd. Ridiculous._

_"...so I _told _Cleopatra, I've never seen you before in my life! And she said, 'yes, you were here last week!' Then she started to describe a man who called himself the Doctor, with a bow tie and a tweed jacket and I stopped her 'cause she must have been describing my next regeneration. Imagine that! A bowtie!"_

_They come into view now, walking so quickly that jogging behind them won't appear suspicious. The blonde girl shoves chips into her mouth, licking at her fingers while glancing frequently up at the man, who gestures so wildly with his hands it's a miracle he doesn't hit a passerby._

_She sets (I set) off, keeping a few metres behind them. I assume this man is the Doctor. The girl must be Rose Tyler. It was surprisingly easy to find them; they're very loud._

_I listen closely. Yes, there it is. The faint buzz of his psychic paper. Humans must be rubbing off on him – doesn't he realise that if a signal can be sent to the paper, it can be tracked? Well, I can track it. But he's never met someone like me before._

_Really, Doctor. You need to pay more attention when you come to Earth._

_The Doctor and Rose Tyler turn a corner into a small, uninhabited alleyway. She waits (I wait) by its entrance, looking in._

_Oh, Lucifer. There it is._

_I've been hearing it for so long now, from miles away, even through time. The low music of the TARDIS. Oh, how I'd love to sink my teeth into that sexy thing. And if all goes to plan, I will._

_He fishes out his keys, still yammering on about something or other. Rose still stares at him, hardly blinking, offering a witty quip every now and then. It's time. I do as I've always been planning._

_"Wait!" she calls (I call) out as she runs (I run) towards the blue box and the human and the Time Lord._

_They both turn around. "Hello," says the Doctor, grinning. She hunches (I hunch) over as if she's (I've) been running for a while. "Psychic paper," she wheezes (I wheeze)._

_The Doctor's face immediately becomes serious, handing her (me) the small leather wallet. "What, you're just gonna give it to her?" asks Rose in disbelief._

_"I think she needs help," murmurs the Doctor. She nods (I nod) as she places (I place) her thumb against the surface of the paper. I transfer the address and timestamp onto the page, watching as it appears in black capital letters. She shoves (I shove) the wallet back into the Doctor's hands, saying, "Please help," as she looks (I look) into his eyes, pleading. He frowns, beginning to say something, before she runs (I run) off. Perfect. Well done._

_I leave the jogger. She collapses, hits her head hard on the pavement. Blood pools. I'd laugh, if I were currently capable. That's one for the scrapbook._

_One out of three._

* * *

_Across the pond, now. Same day. Sioux Falls, South Dakota, United States, America, Earth, the Solar System, etc. An old house. It smells weird._

_I've been following the boys for weeks now, I know their routine. They cry a lot. It's rather pathetic. If I get a hold of Sam, I'll cut his hair, among other things. I'd be smiling if I had a mouth. I'm excited._

_I'm a woman again. Annoying. She runs (I run) quickly to the house, seeing as she's (I'm) about a mile out. Smack the old drunk on the head in his sleep, burn off his tattoo, climb on in. The woman wakes up. He slits (I slit) her throat quickly._

_Bobby Singer picks (I pick) up the phone and hits (hit) speed dial 1 – direct line to all that's left of the Winchester family. I can laugh now. He does (I do)._

_"Hey, Bobby, what's up?" asks Sam, voice loud and irritating. I do my best Bobby Singer impression._

_"You boys working a case?" he says (I say). I throw enough quiet desperation and muted intoxication in to make it believable._

_"Nah, just finished one up." I knew that. Bobby does not. Hey, now he does. Everybody wins. "Why, you got something for us?"_

_"Well I got a call from Rufus this morning, tellin' me to meet him at an address at 9am tomorrow. I won't be able to make it in time, you two mind checkin' it out?"_

_"Sure, gimme the address." That's it. No hesitation. Immediate compliance. I love my job. He reads (I read) the address to Sam, who thanks me and hangs up._

_And that's it. I thank Bobby, who yells the exorcism at me. Not gonna work inside your head, old man. I lock him in his saferoom for good measure, though it's unlikely he'll wake up from that head wound anytime soon. Or the knife wound. Heh, couldn't help myself. He has a lot of flesh._

_I (would) smile as I leave, picturing the Winchesters opening a door in one country and shitting themselves in the next._

_Two out of three._

* * *

_Again, London. Same day, forty miles East. I'm glad I saved this one for last. I'm a sucker for detective stories._

_They don't go out as much, these two. I observe their flat. I've been aching to go inside for weeks. I bet the air tastes sublime._

_I nab a guy out in the street, a businessman who looks like he's late for something. He laughs (I laugh). "Sorry, dear, not your morning," he says (I say) to himself (him). I make my way up the stairs and ring the bell for 221B._

_A few minutes later, John Watson opens the door. I swear he only has three interchangeable jumpers – but I guess I'll find out soon. My fingertips tingle with excitement._

_"Yes, hello?" John says, looking exhausted._

_"I have a case for Mr Holmes." I hate this guy's voice. I tell him so. He prays. I roll my eyes internally at him._

_John's eyebrows shoot up. So many emotions. Aw, poor little fool. "Really. You sure?"_

_He frowns (I frown). "Yes. Everything alright?"_

_"Yeah, it's just, Sherlock can usually tell with these things." He steps back to allow him (me) in. "Come on in, Mr..."_

_A social cue. I read the man. "Collins. Jay Collins."_

_"Mr Collins," John finishes, closing the door behind us. "This way." He leads him (me) up the too-creaky steps and asks me to hold on. He listens (I listen) to their conversation from behind the door._

_"Sherlock."_

_Pause._

_"SHERLOCK."_

_"Hm? What?"_

_"Client."_

_"Ha."_

_"No, there's a client just outside the door."_

_"Your wit is improving, John. We both know that the ring of the doorbell wasn't right."_

_"For God's sake, put your shirt on."_

_"Oh. You're serious." Fabric rustles. "Interesting. Bring the man in."_

_"How – oh, I give up."_

_The door opens – John smiles sheepishly. I've seen puppies that are more guarded with their emotions. Worry teems off him in visible lines._

_He sits (I sit) on a squidgy armchair. John sits opposite on a hard black one. Really. You'd think the metaphors would be subtler. Oh, I do wonder whose chair is whose! Sherlock paces. He grips (I grip) the arms of the chair in anticipation._

_"You're late for your meeting," Sherlock says. He's looked at him (me) exactly once._

_"Sorry?"_

_"It's very important. You might get promoted, and then your wife can afford to furnish the baby's room."_

_He gapes (I gape). "It's... an urgent matter."_

_"Obviously." He frowns. "Hm. Go on."_

_"I received a note in the post last night." He pulls (I pull) it out of his pocket (thin air)._

_"Post doesn't come at night," John tries._

_"It just came through the door." He hands (I hand) John the note. It's pristine, typed in Times New Roman. An address, a timestamp, and an instruction: 'Tell Mr Holmes and Dr Watson to come alone.'_

_John reads it aloud them holds it behind him; Sherlock snatches it up on his way past. That man. Artwork. He scans it, turns it over. Smiles. Smiles? Wonderful._

_"A trap?" muses John, leaning back, obviously uncomfortable in the harsh chair._

_"Almost definitely," Sherlock replies, voice throwaway, passive._

_"Will you go?" he asks (I ask). I throw in some fear for my own life._

_"Of course." Sherlock turns to me, grins. "Love a good trap, haven't had one for years now." John rolls his eyes. He's not so bad._

_Sherlock dashes off to the kitchen, begins running tests on the note. John asks him (me) routine questions: where were you last night? what time did it arrive? do you have any enemies? I sigh and access the man's memories. I hate legwork._

_"Don't bother John, he's not of use," calls Sherlock amidst a loud clatter. "Except –"_

_Suddenly he's in front of me. "How did you hear about us?"_

_"What?" he asks (I ask)._

_"The man writing the note, he was sure you'd know of us. Didn't even include our address."_

_He waits impatiently, fingers tapping Bach on his hips._

_"The telly," he says (I say), as it's true of the man. "That Reichenbach case last week. Brilliant case. Good work, by the way. Astounding."_

_At this he appears rather taken aback, an expression which fits him ill. "I – uh. Thank you. You can go. Leave your number with John." He runs off once more, leaving him (me) to give his (Collins's) number to the pet. They (we) shake hands. He leaves (I leave). I leave._

_Exhilarating. Orgasmic. I cannot wait to play with that mind further._

_Three out of three._

_The game's afoot._


	2. When The Levee Breaks

**_Chapter One: When The Levee Breaks_**

"It's probably a trap."

"What was that?" The Doctor pokes his head up through the TARDIS's maintenance hatch, the rising steam covering his face with a thin sheen.

"It's probably a trap," Rose repeats, leaning against the console, picking at her fingernails with a fragile casualness. "Aren't there any, I dunno, _checks _you can do?"

The Doctor gives her a mockingly stern, scolding look. "Now what kind of way of life is that? Checking everything before you do it, no fun at all! I've been leaping into things my whole life, and look at me, I'm as healthy as a two-hundred year old!"

Rose purses her lips. She's learned by now to not let the Doctor's perpetual flippancy get to her. If he's going to listen to her, she needs to stay calm and make her point rationally.

"You're an idiot." That works too, she's found.

He just grins. It looks good on him. "Rose, ninety-nine percent of the situations I wander into on a daily basis are traps, and I am one-hundred percent okay with that." He ducks back down into the controls and Rose thinks about how he said "I", and not "we", and whether he meant anything by it.

Since becoming his companion, Rose has discovered a few new self esteem issues cropping up every now and then. It's a bit intimidating to travel with someone who's had more girlfriends than you've had haircuts, but she knows he's not like that. It's not that he's a _player_, for God's sake, he's too innocent and wide eyed for a thing like that. It's just... he's just old. And she's just young. That's all it is.

She hums quietly to herself as the Doctor prepares them for flight. She watches as he fiddles and fixes and looks at her every ten or so seconds and smiles to make sure she's still watching him be clever.

Pushing herself off the console, she says, "If we get kidnapped, chips are on you," and walks away laughing as the Doctor protests loudly. She's worried sick about what's waiting for them, a fact that she'd never tell him, but whatever happens, she knows she'll be by his side forever.

* * *

The cold air of a London morning does nothing to warm the manner of Sherlock Holmes. On the contrary, his cool manner seems to be made even cooler by the fact that he doesn't have his scarf.

"I told you press attention was a bad idea. Probably one of my fans breaking in to get a memento. Better yet, something to sell on the internet. _Scarf of the famous detective! Wear it and pretend you're not a moron!"_ He continues like this for several minutes, grumbling and threatening and trying to work out who could have taken it despite the fact there was no evidence whatsoever. "So most likely a professional thief. I'll look on eBay for it when we get back."

John hums his agreement, still looking through his binoculars at the door. Sherlock glances at him, sighs, and returns his own to his eyes.

They've been waiting here since 8am, trying to work out what on Earth the note had been about, and why they've been summoned. Their hiding place behind the bins is neither glamorous nor comfortable, but those qualities don't usually apply to life with Sherlock anyway. So far there's been no action. But it's nearing 9am, and Sherlock's getting restless.

"I'm _bored_," he moans, dropping his binoculars in his lap again and throwing his arm over his eyes. "There aren't any _clues_, I need to get in there!"

"Five minutes, Sherlock, five minutes and we'll go in." John hasn't once taken his eyes off the entrance to the building, keeping a rigid stance as every soldier should be able to do.

"If this is Mycroft, I'm not pulling any punches this time. Literally. I still remember the first time he tried to throw me a surprise birthday party, I couldn't sit down for weeks, the burns were so bad." He turns up his coat collar, pulling it tight around his exposed neck.

"What the hell – nevermind, I don't want to know what Mycroft did to your arse," John sighs from his post.

Sherlock pouts slightly, disappointed. He loves telling that story. Wait, that's not right. He thinks John would love hearing it, is the thing.

Growing bored, Sherlock pulls out his phone and hacks into the local doctor's, optician's etc until he finds one of Anderson's appointments, which he promptly moves to later today just to mess him around a little. He also changes the gender to female and the age to eighty-nine. Not his best work, but he's working with limited resources here.

"Sherlock," John says suddenly, with urgency. Sherlock looks up, pulling his binoculars to his eyes.

A tall, skinny man with a long coat and a pretty blonde girl are smiling and laughing and approaching the building. The man pulls something out of his pocket that looks suspiciously like a screwdriver and uses it to scan around them, before frowning and putting the thing away. He and the girl slip inside the building.

"They just wandered in!" John exclaims, finally leaning back and turning to Sherlock. "Why would they just –"

He's interrupted by Sherlock standing and following the unknown couple into the building.

"Oh, for God's sake – Sherlock!"

* * *

Rose takes one look at the dank walls of the hallway and stained windows and dirt and grime and says, "This is horrible."

"Oh, it's not _that _bad. I've had worse, let me tell you. You don't wanna go into the bathroom after Henry VIII." The Doctor wanders over to the window, sliding his finger along the pane and then licking it. "We're on Earth, that's a plus."

"Of _course _we're on Earth."

"Still, got to be sure. Could have been a spatio-temporal hyperlink."

"What's that?"

"Better term for 'magic door'."

She narrows her eyes. "You've said that before."

"Yeah, but it was funny, and I wasn't sure you'd heard me." He grins and it fills his face. "Good to know you're on the ball."

They both spin around suddenly as the door opens and a tall man in a dark coat and some _great _hair walks – no, _strides_ – in, and Rose immediately feels like she should tuck her shirt in.

The man stops walking and the three of them look at each other for a moment.

"Hello!" says the Doctor eventually.

"Who are _you_?" Rose asks, and it comes out more impressed than she'd meant it to.

"Sherlock Holmes. And you?" His voice is low and rumbly. Rose holds in a wolf-whistle.

"I'm Rose, this is the Doctor." She sticks out her hand for him to shake. He doesn't acknowledge it, instead saying, "This is my friend, John Watson."

Rose looks around; there's no one else here. "Who do you –"

The mystery solves itself as a short blonde man comes crashing through the door, breathing slightly heavily and looking around himself wildly. He spots Sherlock and strides up to him, muttering "stupid arrogant twat what if _I _left then huh where would you be who would get the bloody milk _then_".

Sherlock stops him by turning away and saying, "John, this is Rose Tyler and the Doctor."

John freezes, realising their presence. He turns to the two, visibly swallowing his anger, before taking Rose's hand, which she hadn't realise was still extended. "Hi. John Watson." He holds his hand to the Doctor, too, who shakes it gleefully.

"You're a doctor?" he asks the Doctor, smiling a little.

"Technically, yes."

"Me too. Looks like we're prepared for any accidents." He sees Rose's frown and says, "I'm assuming you got a note to be here too?"

"Yeah," Rose replies before the Doctor can explain just how weird their note really was. They're trying to be inconspicuous, for God's sake. No need to go on about _aliens. _And hell, if it was a trap – which she still swore it was – they'd all find out soon enough.

"What do you do?" Sherlock says suddenly, turning to Rose.

She blinks, bewildered. "Oh. I'm a traveller, I suppose. Just kind of drifting at the moment."

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "Where?"

"Europe," she says in panic.

"You're lying."

Rose feels the Doctor move ever so slightly closer to her; unconscious protection. "Where d'you get that from?" she replies, keeping her voice calm.

"There's dirt on your jeans unlike any soil type in Europe, or even on Earth."

"How can you tell?"

"It's pink."

Rose opens her mouth to provide a feeble reply when there's another loud crash and three men fall out of the front door. Two of them fall on each other and one steps gracefully over them, looking down at his companions in concern.

"You should probably stand up," he says to them in an American accent, his voice impossibly low and powerful. He looks strangely uncomfortable, as if he's in someone else's body; his trenchcoat and suit hang on him as if he's not aware he's wearing them.

She hears a grumble of "goddamnit" and another voice saying "get _off _me" before the two men stand up, brushing themselves off, guns in hand. One of them is taller than the other, and they both wear jeans and plaid.

The three newcomers look around, slightly overwhelmed. "This isn't an ambush, is it?" says the tall one.

"No, they're not demons," says the one in the trenchcoat.

"What?" John says in disbelief. "What's that about demons?"

"He's kidding, of course," says the blonde one, clapping his hand on trenchcoat's shoulder. "He just means you look like nice people." He changes the subject quickly by looking around and saying, "Why is it light outside?"

The tall one looks up and says, "Oh. I, uh – wow, that's weird."

"We seem to have changed time zone," says trenchcoat. "We are now in London, England, and it's 9:07am."

"England?" the blonde one says in disbelief. He turns to Sherlock. "You English?"

"Obviously," Sherlock replies. "How did you get here?"

"No idea. We were in California and then – poof. We're here."

"Wait, who _are _you?" the tall one says to the four people he doesn't know.

"Oh, right. Where are my manners," the Doctor says brightly, stepping forwards. "I'm the Doctor, this is Rose Tyler, my trusty sidekick –"

"I prefer the term companion," she cuts in.

The Doctor pouts. "But sidekick makes me sound like a superhero!"

John clears his throat. "I'm John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes. Now, you?" Rose spots that his hands are behind his back. She strongly suspects that he's drawn his gun.

The tall one and the blonde one exchange a glance, with the blonde one nodding slightly. The other takes a deep breath and turns back to the rest. "Well, I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. And this –"

"My name is Castiel. I'm an angel of –"

Dean coughs loudly, covering up the rest of Castiel's sentence. "Ha, he's kidding again. Real religious, this one. He's Cas. Call him Cas." Cas looks at Dean in confusion, but doesn't comment.

"Did you get a note too?" John asks Dean, who appears to be in charge.

"No, why? Did you?"

John nods simply, and Dean frowns. "Well, we got a call that something strange was going on up in California. We went to check it out. We're FBI." He draws his badge.

"No you're not," Sherlock says.

Dean glares at him. "Excuse me?"

"That's a fake badge."

"Where do you get off saying _that?_"

"No, no," John says suddenly, waving his hands in front of him. "Don't get him started. There are more important things to be talking about at this moment."

"Yes, you're right John," Sherlock says, to which John opens his mouth in surprise. Sherlock points to Cas, saying, "Namely, why has that man not eaten in years?"

* * *

_The lights go off. I enter._

* * *

"Everybody stay calm!" Rose hears Dean yell as the room goes black. A hand grabs hers, fingers threading in, warm and comforting. "Cas, can you see?"

"No." Cas's voice is strained and worried. "Dean, I – I can't. I think something's draining my power."

"_What_?" Dean shouts. "Oh, you gotta be _kidding _me!"

The lights snap back on suddenly and Rose shuts her eyes, crying out, momentarily blinded. She blinks slowly, squinting around. Everyone is still there, everyone seems to be alright.

Except John, who has his head in his hands.

"John?" Sam says, making Sherlock turn and realise the state of his friend. "You okay?"

Dean whispers something in Cas's ear, to which Cas's brow furrows and he says, "I can't tell. I can't see."

John drops his hands and opens his eyes. They're black.

"Woah!" Rose cries, taking a few steps back, as do the Doctor and Sherlock. The Americans, however, seem to have expected this.

"Sammy, salt water!" Dean says quickly as his brother searches his pockets. "C'mon!"

"Dean, it's not here!"

"Don't tell me you forgot it!"

"_No_, I definitely had it, I always have it –"

"My bad," says John, causing the brothers to stop their argument and turn to him immediately. "Must have misplaced it for you." His voice is different: lower, calmer. Colder.

"What _is _that?" Rose cries. She looks to the Doctor, who's peering at John with curiosity, but no fear. Sherlock, however, is full on staring, wide-eyed and tight-lipped, hands visibly clenched in the pockets of his coat.

"It's a demon," says Sam, anger and confusion clear in his voice. "Also, kind of a dick."

John smirks. "There's that Yank charm I've heard so much about."

"Hold on, a _demon?"_ Rose throws her hands in the air. "Like, an _actual demon?_"

"Welcome to our world, gorgeous," Dean quips without taking his eyes off John.

"What did you do to me?" says Cas, low and threatening, and Sam and Dean turn to him; Sam in surprise, Dean in concern.

"Oh, don't get all mad. It's a simple matter of sigils. One to trap you in, one to drain your powers." John hasn't moved from where he's standing, hands clasped in front of him, his stance much more relaxed than usual.

"Man," Dean says scathingly, "I thought _angels _were douchebags -"

John waves his hand lazily and Dean stops talking immediately, eyes widening and scrabbling at his mouth. "That's enough out of you," John says, and Dean realises what's happened and glares, arms folded across his chest.

"Allow me to explain the rules."

Rose retakes the Doctor's hand.

"If any of you try the exorcism, I'll kill you immediately. The door is locked, and there's no chance of escape. Not that any of you cared to check, damn hero complexes. I will possess one of you at a time, and none of you will be able to tell who." He begins to pace, weaving in between people, not touching any of them. "I'll have complete access to your thoughts, feelings, memories, so I can mimic you very accurately, so much so that even your partner won't be able to recognise you." Suddenly he sighs, irritated.

* * *

_The lights go off. I change._

* * *

"Dude, not cool!" Sam yells as the lights come back on, throwing an arm over his eyes. Dean has his gun held in front of him. Sherlock hasn't spoken in a while, and even though she hasn't known him for that long, Rose knows that this isn't usual behaviour for him.

"Why d'you have to bring the _angel?_" Cas says in an English accent, and Rose turns to him to see that his eyes are now black instead. She glances to John. He's getting up off the floor, and Sherlock is helping him, asking if he's alright, to which he nods.

Sam and Dean, however, are not. They take a few steps back from Cas, shock on their faces, Sam drawing his gun as well. "What the Hell?" Sam shouts, pointing his weapon at Cas's head.

"How did you possess _Cas?" _Dean asks loudly, in complete disbelief.

Cas ignores them, looking at his hands. "God, he's gonna go tell on me, isn't he? Run to daddy or something, I'm gonna be hunted, damnit. And I was gonna do pairs, like turn you against each other, but now it doesn't make _sense_ that I said _'your partner won't be able to recognise you'_ because you brought the bloody angel!"

"Well," says Dean, clapping his hands together once in front of him. "Why don't you just let him go, and we can do _your _thing?" He gives Cas the most overtly charming smile Rose has ever seen.

Cas just rolls his eyes, fading them to normal colour. "Nice try, muscles." He wrinkles his nose and Dean's smile drops immediately as he looks away. "I don't like this. He keeps trying to push me out. No offence, but he's a hell of a lot stronger than you," he says to John, who's also drawn his gun and has his jaw tensed dramatically. "Okay. Brb."

* * *

_The lights go off. I change._

* * *

"Is everyone alright?" says the Doctor, glancing from John to Cas to everyone else. No one's eyes are black.

"Where are you, you bastard?" Dean says, pulling out a torch and shining it into everyone's eyes. "Cristo!"

Nothing happens.

"What the _fuck_," Dean mutters under his breath, turning to Cas and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

Cas nods, sweat clear on his face. "I don't know how that happened. In theory, it's impossible for me to be possessed."

"Dean, if the demon can get in _him, _does that mean..." Sam trails off, raising his eyebrows.

"That it can get in us?" Dean frowns. "Maybe, yeah. We gotta be on the lookout."

He turns to the rest of them. "Right, so, one of us is possessed, and we have no idea who."

"You must be joking," breathes John, lowering his arm, but not putting his gun away. "How is this possible?"

"Oh, anything's possible, really," the Doctor pipes up, positively grinning. "Just because it's not logical, doesn't mean it's impossible."

"I have to agree." Rose turns as Sherlock speaks, his voice normal. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"Oh, what, and _demons _aren't impossible?" Rose cries.

"Not technically."

"How do you figure?"

"There is no solid evidence against it, and there seems to be a lot of evidence _for _it, as of the last few minutes." He wipes a hand down his face. "It's real."

"If we could get a word in edgeways," says Dean, holding up his hand, looking annoyed. "Yeah. Demons are real. So are vampires, so are werewolves, so is practically everything you've ever had nightmares about."

"How do _you _know?" asks John, ever the sceptical.

"Because it's our job to know. You wanna survive, you listen to us."

"Hang on, who put _you _in charge?" Rose says.

Dean smiles. "Well, from looking around the room, it's pretty clear that we're the strongest, we're the _tallest_, and we know the most about demons. Now c'mon, we should scout the area." Rose notices for the first time that the hallway leads to multiple rooms and continues, both to her left and right, round corners.

"If you know so much about demons, why are we still here?" demands Sherlock in a subtle tone. "Why are we here in the first place? If you're as well informed as you say, we wouldn't be in this situation, and neither would you."

Dean stares at him. "Sorry, who are you?"

Sherlock smirks, saying, "Of course you don't know who I am. I highly doubt you bother watching the news. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'm a consulting detective."

Rose interrupts Dean's muttering of _what the Hell is that _by saying, "_There's_ a plan. If we're gonna be stuck here together, we should introduce ourselves." She turns her gaze to Dean, glaring a little at him. "You first, Rambo."

He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for a few seconds before talking to see if she's serious. "Alright," he says eventually. "Hey. I'm Dean, I'm an Aquarius, I like long walks on the beach and frisky women -"

"Give me a break," Sherlock mutters.

"I'm a hunter," Dean continues, louder, "meaning I hunt the supernatural for a living with my brother Sam here, and our feathery friend Cas."

"Wait, so he's really an angel?" Rose asks, staring at Cas. He stares right back at her, quizzically.

"Yep, equipped with wings and Grace and all. But he's not working right now." He pats Cas on the shoulder encouragingly. "Still great though."

"Thank you," Cas replies, missing the point a little. "Hello, everyone." He nods stiffly.

"Sammy?"

"Oh, okay," Sam says, and clears his throat. "Right, well, I'm Sam. Basically what Dean said, really. We know what we're doing. You're in good hands."

Sherlock snorts, and John elbows him. "What?" Sherlock says, turning from John to Sam. "We're not _in _your hands. We're in the hands of this villain."

"Well, uh. I mean." Sam scratches the back of his neck. "We're. You're - shut up, okay?"

"I'm the Doctor!" announces the Doctor in order to relieve some of the tension that's building between Sherlock and Sam, who glare at each other across the room. Rose wonders who'd win in a fight. "I'm 905, I'm from the planet Gallifrey, and I know a lot about aliens, if that helps at all."

"It doesn't," says Sherlock.

"Hold up, aliens?" Dean cries, along with John's cry of "what the Hell?"

"Dean, you know very well that there are other planets out there," Cas tells him quietly. "Death told you."

"What's going on," John breathes, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay, well, this is definitely a demon," Sam tells the Doctor. "Sorry, man."

"Oh, don't be. This is all very exciting." He's still grinning, and Rose admires his calm. She'd never say anything, but she's freaking out inside. Aliens she could handle. Werewolves, too, even if they _were _in the royal family. But demons? _Vampires?_ It's a miracle she's still alive. It's a miracle _anyone _is still alive.

"Wait, Doctor?" Dean frowns.

"That's me."

"Doctor what?"

"No, you did it wrong."

"What?"

"You have to say 'doctor who?'"

"_Why?_"

"Just do it."

"...doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor!" He holds out a hand for Dean to shake, which he does, because he can't think of a comeback. Also he's probably worried that the Doctor might start breathing fire or something, as Rose had been when she'd first found out he was an alien.

"Is it my turn?" Rose asks. No one replies, so she says, "Right then. I'm Rose Tyler, I'm nineteen, I travel with the Doctor. Not much to say, uh - I used to work in a shop?" She lets out a nervous laugh. Everyone is staring at her. It's awkward. "Someone else go, please."

"I'll go," John says, shooting her a warm glance. "I'm Dr. John Watson. Sherlock and I solve crimes, but I was an army doctor in the 5th Northumberland Fusilier."

"Oh, nice. Our dad was in the Marines," Sam tells him, smiling. John nods in reply. Dean coughs.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," says Sherlock, looking bored, though his eyes suggest differently. "I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the term."

Literally everyone else rolls their eyes.

"As I tried to say earlier, we should scout the area," Dean says. "What does this place look like from the outside? Big?"

"Moderately," replies Sherlock.

"We might be here for a while," says John, "we should look for food, water, and maybe a first aid kit."

"Why do you say that?" says Rose, worry creeping into her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"When you say we might need a first aid kit it makes it sound like you're _suggesting _something."

"I didn't mean anything by it," John says, holding his hands in front of him in a reassuring gesture, which she ignores. "It's just my instinct as a doctor."

"What if it's in him again?" Sam asks, looking at Sherlock. "Is that usual for him?"

"Sadly, yes," Sherlock answers. John punches him in the arm.

"Okay, right," Rose says loudly, because _someone _has to take charge, and Dean, Sam and Cas are just talking quietly to each other at the moment. "Doctor, you go with John. Sherlock go with Sam, and I'll go with Dean and Cas."

"Why split us up?" the Doctor asks, turning to her. "We work pretty well together."

She cocks an eyebrow. "_Pretty _well?"

"I was being modest. We're the best."

"Better. And you heard what the demon said, it wants us in pairs. In _assigned _pairs. Better to mix it up."

"Very nice," says Sherlock, looking a little impressed.

"Logic, yeah, thought you'd like that." She smiles. He doesn't return it, but nods slightly, which is kind of like the same thing, right?

Dean breaks off his conversation, turning to the rest and saying, "So me and Cas with blondie, Sam with the alien?"

"No, Sam with Sherlock," Rose replies, pointing to Sherlock.

"I thought he was an alien."

"No, I'm the alien," says the Doctor, waving.

"Sherlock's just a genius," John tells Dean in a world-weary tone.

Dean nods. "Message received."

"And please don't call me blondie," Rose sighs.

"Message _also _received. Meet back in that room -" he points to a door behind Rose, opposite the door they'd entered through "- in fifteen minutes. If you're not back here in twenty, we'll lock the door, because whatever got you, chance is it's gonna go after us too."

"Nice to know our fearless leader is also merciless," John says, leading to a small smirk from Sherlock that he doesn't let John see.

"Hey, we're playing that thing at its own game. If there's one thing I know about demons, it's that you gotta give as good as you get, or all you get is dead." He turns to Sam and Cas. "That all sound good?"

They nod, Sam adding, "Be careful," to which Dean snorts and slaps his shoulder.

Rose sighs, looking at the side of the Doctor's face. He notices, and turns to smile reassuringly at her.

She reckons it's gonna be a long day.


End file.
